


Currents Convulsive

by flatlovenotes



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fantasy, Frerard (but nor really), Gen, Horror, M/M, Murder, One-Shot, Ray Toro - Freeform, Romance, Stole the Plots From Websites And Improved Them, This Is Very Bad and Dreamy, Thriller, What To Put In Tags?, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, my chemical romance - Freeform, please just read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flatlovenotes/pseuds/flatlovenotes
Summary: Frank realizes someone is watching him day and night from across the street.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Currents Convulsive

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what is this. i just wrote it(( this story is a mess and english is not my first language so pleASE forgive me. i am loveless so portraying certain situations is very hard for me. by the way, that's not really romance or anything. uhm,,,, enjoy i guess?

“They’re… They’re these terrors, and it’s like–”, cried Frank, as he started to reveal his frustrations to his friend. He sounded exhausted, although his countenance was as livid and bright as a happy child’s; but the person on the other side of the phone could not see it. _I could_. “And it feels as if somebody was gripping my throat, squeezing. Like last night…”

_I smiled, and kept smiling the whole time. I wonder if he could feel it, too, and as if a moon ascended in the full dark, starless sky, he went on, energetic:_

“I keep having bad dreams. Yeah... no, they’re not nightmares. I don’t– this is dumb. It’s like someone is, you know, watching me. All the time. I’m too tired to stay awake and too tired to sleep, d’you know what I mean?. Ray, listen, I just figured… I should stop bothering you. You probably think this is foolish of me. I’m hardly an adult with a vivid imagination. Now, pray, do return to your work– Yes, Ray, I understand, alright? I’ll most likely forget about it, so don’t worry. Goodbye.” 

_What do you mean, “forget about it”? I wish I could listen to what Raymond was saying. His friends are so dumb. I am the only one who makes him feel things._

Frank Iero ran his fingers on his stringy flaxen hair: he was stressed, tired, and looked mildly sick. This might not be as bad, considering his rest-deprived self. Moments of uneasiness went by, but fatigue struck him stronger. Laying down, the fresh night air filled his lungs delightfully. He at last fell asleep.

On the morrow, he spent hours working on his laptop, chugging down bottles of water (because summer had no mercy on anyone). His best friend Ray promised to stop by and spend some time with him, but it didn’t seem like it would happen really soon. After he moved to O–, boredom was basically all he felt. With Ray living in a quite distant hood, and Michael Way – Raymond’s colleague at work, consecutively Frank’s colleague – not even texting him once in a while… Well, that left him, him with few options and many an idea to share with someone, just Gerard Way. But the thing is, Frank has never actually spoken to him. He would occasionally appear with Mikey when they’d hang out, and exchanging a word or two plus the usual small talk was all the acquaintance made.  
Despite the lack of socialization with the older Way, Frank found him polite, well-mannered in an almost unnecessary way notwithstanding, but still a nice guy. Alas! He was handsome too, sharing several similarities with his brother. 

The bleach-blonde man took a break from his work, letting himself wander around the room and vanities linger in the back of his head mindlessly. Every warm afternoon had the particular tendency to be unproductive and it made him idle. Frank avoided quarrelling by avoiding social interactions, which led to the most unpleasant days where he had nothing to do, except stare at his face mirrored in the pitch-black laptop screen. And that narcissistic sensation he felt growing, rooting, deepening from the top of his lungs, was simply loneliness – he had no one to care for, to look after, nearly a “motherly” thing. A ghostly reflection, caught through his glasses, woke Frank from his silly daydreams. Looking up slowly, he frowned in concern and disbelief, for he was sure someone watched him, day and night, from across the street.

_Dear Frankie, don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to scare you, I just want you. Entirely. You should know I always did, but you were so blind. Come back to me! I’d rather see you dead than live without you so thirsty for more._

Leaning against the window-sill, there it was: a gloomy figure, hidden behind ugly jacquard curtains. Although he wore glasses, his sight was questionable, and the raising heat blurred the view. He recognized those features and pale complexion as he did his own. Gerard starred back and their glance connected, both surprised, and as Frank’s was rather shocked, the other’s eyes were dead, vacant and stained. The corner of his lips dropped in a dramatic motion. Then the ghastly being parted his thin lips, holding a painful expression. Frank analyzed everything, confused. 

“Hey? Gerard?” Shouted him, hoping he would get a decent response for all of this. Why did he never tell Frank, or anyone else, that he lived right there? They would have talked more; become friends, perhaps. So much time wishing someone would show up, just a little. What was the problem, then? “What the hell, dude!” Now with a diverted tone. “You could have told me you wanted to... I don’t know, hang out or something? Like, ’s okay, but you kinda scared me though.”

Gerard looked and looked at him, and knew, as clearly as he knew Frank would die, that he loved him more than anything he had ever seen or imagined on earth. Among headless angels in bloody gowns, walls that breathed and all the faces he saw when he slept, there he was: a single lighthouse isolated in his 5 oceans of madness and despair.

He chuckled, “That’s so shitty of me!”, and Frank smiled. “I’m sorry”, and closed the curtains. Rude, Frank mumbled to himself, and decided to forget about it, still in confusion.

Unsettling hours passed.

_He never closed the curtains nor moved the drapes when going to sleep. Thence, climbing atop his limp frame, I bade him goodnight, kissed his eyelids and wrapped my hands tight around his neck. And with such strength I cherished him, honored him, from my head to my middle finger, for a heart I no longer had. It beat for him, anyways. And one cannot have two beating hearts at the same time.  
Please, understand: this was not a passionate crime, or a hate crime, no… He could fade and wither – I didn’t care. I would still go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of his face._

_A tender crime, thus, it was._


End file.
